Left 4 Dead 2: Against the Odds
by hidden-in-a-tree
Summary: It was his fault that four had become three. Oneshot? Drama/Tragedy. Nick’s POV. Language warning.


**Author's Note: **After getting _Left 4 Dead 2_ for Christmas, I've decided to dabble a bit in the relationships that exist between all the characters … or maybe just two of them. Anyways, hope you enjoy.

Oneshot (?). Drama/Tragedy. Nick's POV. Language warning.

**Disclaimer: **I wish I owned Nick. But I don't. Don't even own any of 'em … but if I did, I'd rent Ellis out to Hayley. xD

**Acknowledgements: **I'd like to thank Sean for editing this. xD

**Summary:** It was his fault that four had become three.

**Against the Odds**

The safe house was silent. Both floors were dead quiet, and Nick didn't like it. Not even half an hour ago, everything had been complete chaos, but now … now the silence seemed too unnatural.

He couldn't even hear an infected person outside the barred door.

Nothin'.

Nothin', that is, except his thoughts … and those seemed way too damn loud right now.

It was his fault. Entirely his fault.

Rochelle made sure he knew it, too, as the three survivors –

Three. Three of them.

There had been one more, but now …

"Fuck," Nick whispered to himself as he pulled his knees up to his body and dug his fingernails into his white suit. That goddamn white suit that he'd been so proud of. Well, now it wasn't anything special to look at … what with the dirt and the blood and the green boomer slime.

Who really gave a damn anymore. It was the end of the world.

As he sat there, his back up against the wall, he could hear some noise now. Rochelle was crying. Coach was comforting her. And Ellis was silent.

Nick glanced at the unmoving form lying on the floor right across from him.

Ellis …

Nick shuddered, his whole body shaking for a second as he looked at the blue jean overalls and the would-be white shirt. It was at that minute that Nick realized Ellis' hat was missing.

That hat that the twenty-three year old cared about so much.

Nick's body shook again, and he fought the urge to vomit. He hadn't eaten in a day or two. Water? Ha. The last thing he'd had was some raindrops that had dropped into his mouth from the sky.

He couldn't help it – he looked at Ellis' lifeless form again.

It was obvious what was going to happen to all of them – Coach, Rochelle … himself. They would all end up like Ellis.

Dead.

"Oh God," he muttered. He could feel the acidic stomach bile at the back of his throat, and it took all his strength not to throw up everything in his stomach, seeing as how it would be nothing anyways.

It was his fault that Ellis was dead.

It was his fault that the once vibrant young man was lying motionless on the floor without his goddamn fucking hat that he'd gone back for three times already.

Gone.

After being stuck in Savannah and running for his life, even he wouldn't have bet on finding other survivors. It appeared as if everyone had become infected … everyone except for four people in one big city who had inexplicably found one another, and Nick realized that the relationships he'd formed with each of the survivors was important in some way.

While waiting in the safe houses to get back their strength, he'd confided in Rochelle. He'd told her about his life, his dreams, his ambitions. She kept him from going crazy when Ellis was being his regular silly self.

With Coach, Nicked talked to the bigger man about anything, really. Coach wasn't a very sympathetic guy, and Nick didn't need any sympathy. They got along pretty well, and they both enjoyed talking about sports … but due to the infected population, the likelihood of anyone winning the Super Bowl that year was slim to none.

Ellis …

Nick didn't want to think about Ellis anymore.

It hurt too much, and Nick didn't even know why.

He hadn't actively chosen to leave Ellis alone. Nick had heard Rochelle scream and Coach yell, so he'd sprinted off in the direction of their voices.

Nick knew – thought – that Ellis could handle himself.

Out of all the survivors, in a cage match between one of them and a tank, Nick would've bet on Ellis to kill the tank. Or at least stay alive the longest.

In reality, though, when he'd returned to Ellis, the younger man was down and out. A group of zombies had surrounded the mechanic, and they were all pummeling him with their feet or their fists. Luckily, though, a hunter hadn't arrived on the scene or everything would have been much messier and more tragic.

There had been so much blood, and as Nick bellowed for Coach, the thirty-five year old had wondered if it was all Ellis'.

Of course, when the infected people are attacking, there isn't much time for ponderings.

Somehow they had all managed to get to the safe house, with Coach and Nick carrying the mechanic and Rochelle covering them.

Somehow they'd managed, but hell was waiting for them inside anyways.

Nick and Coach hadn't even been able to gently put Ellis' body down and properly check for life-signs before Rochelle had exploded at Nick and threatened to "blow his fucking head off" for leaving Ellis, but Coach had shoved between them and told them both to calm down.

Nick had wanted to kill Rochelle for telling him everything he already knew. He wanted to hurt her – to make her understand that he was feeling Ellis' death too.

He wanted her to understand that he cared.

Rochelle, tears streaming down her dark cheeks, had rushed upstairs, and Coach had followed her after casting one last glance at Ellis' body.

Nick had remained down on the ground floor.

God, it hurt so much to think about all of it. Just yesterday, he'd been laughing with Ellis over something trivial, and now –

Nick hadn't shed a tear when his own dad had died ten years ago, so why did he care so much about some hillbilly who he'd met not even a month ago?

"Ellis …" Nick mumbled, his voice thick and hoarse. He almost didn't hear it over the low words from above amidst Rochelle's disjointed sobs.

He closed his eyes and put his face into his knees, wondering over and over again how they were going to go on.

They wouldn't make it anywhere now. His complete stupidity had made sure of it. He'd abandoned Ellis – left him all alone with no one watching his back – and now Nick was paying for it, and he knew he'd never be able to face the insurmountable amount of debt he'd racked up. Ellis had died, Rochelle hated Nick, and all trust had been obliterated.

"Good fucking job, Nick," he told himself, and his voice broke.

He was on the verge of breaking down, and he didn't know what made Ellis so special – what made Nick want to cry over losing someone like that happy-go-lucky bastard who wouldn't stop talking about some guy named Keith who –

Ellis groaned.

Nick was on his feet in a second, kneeling beside the seemingly dead younger man. He held his breath, waiting to see if he'd imagined it.

Ellis' eyes flickered open. Nick stared down into those sky-blue irises that he'd thought he'd never see again.

"Man, why the hell do I feel like I got hit by a semi?" Ellis asked, his voice gravelly. He tried to sit up, but winced and cried out, his face contorting in pain.

Nick put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him gently back down onto the dirty cement.

"Stay still," he said, his voice low and gentle. "You must've gotten kicked in the head or something by an infected person, since it doesn't seem like you're bleeding anywhere. You'll be all right."

Ellis looked up in surprise at that tone of voice, and Nick knew why: it was as if he, Nick, was incapable of caring about anyone but himself.

"What—" the younger man began, but he was interrupted.

"I'm sorry," Nick said, his words coming out in a rush. "It was my fault. I – I'm the reason you almost died. I can't even try to explain what happened. I'm sorry I left you. Fuck, Ellis, I don't know … I thought you were gone for good, and I just … I didn't know how I – I mean, how we were … going to go on."

Ellis' blue eyes widened a little bit more, and his lips formed a small 'o' of revelation. He seemed to have realized something, and it made Nick feel incredibly uncomfortable.

"Okay," Ellis said, "but I was just gonna ask about my hat. Oh, and why nobody ever heard of checking for a pulse. Even I knew that. I bet even KEITH knew that, and Keith don't know anything."


End file.
